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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29767815">Time to Look at One Another</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prince_of_Elsinore/pseuds/Prince_of_Elsinore'>Prince_of_Elsinore</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dean Winchester Loves Sam Winchester, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Gen Work, POV Sam Winchester, Pre-Canon, Sam Winchester Loves Dean Winchester, Teenchesters, Thornton Wilder's Our Town, gencest</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 00:41:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,094</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29767815</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prince_of_Elsinore/pseuds/Prince_of_Elsinore</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Dean is silhouetted in the doorway, looking back at him. Maybe Sam has it wrong. Maybe Dean isn’t leaving. Maybe he’s just up ahead, waiting for him. Sam wonders if he’ll ever catch up. </i>
</p><p>Sam gets a candygram after his performance in <i>Our Town</i>.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dean Winchester &amp; Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Time to Look at One Another</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The title is a quote from Thornton Wilder's <i>Our Town</i>.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sam is sweating from the stage lights and his chest is buoyant from applause as he exits into the wings. He's buzzing with the high of a perfect performance—not a single stumbled line tonight—as he makes his way to the green room. His cast-mates clap him on the back and Stacey Nicholson, the star of the show, the prettiest girl in school by Sam's estimation, even gives him a full-body hug. Sam grins so wide his cheeks hurt.</p><p>Then he spots the table covered in little mesh baggies with tags and bows, each filled with foil-wrapped candies. The others crowd around it, pawing at the bags like hogs rooting for truffles. Sam's smile fades. He slips away towards the dressing room.</p><p>"Yo, Winchester! This one's for you!"</p><p>Sam whips around to see Aaron McCormack tossing one the bags across the room to him. Sam snatches it out of the air one-handed.</p><p>"Nice catch," says Aaron, impressed, before turning back to the table.</p><p>Sam stares down at the chocolates in his hand. The candygrams are for sale during intermission as a fundraiser for the drama club. His cast-mates have all gotten at least one every performance, purchased by friends or parents and delivered to them backstage after the show. Sam never expected anyone to get him one. Maybe one of the other parents bought it. Pity candy, or something.</p><p>Sam tries not to feel bitter as he flips over the tag to read it. Instead of the name of his benefactor, he finds four words in an instantly recognizable scrawl:</p><p>
  <em>To Sammy, you nerd</em>
</p><p>A grin splits his face once more. Dean. He came. He saw him, saw his best performance yet. Even though just that morning he'd said he wasn't sure, that he'd probably have to work the late shift at the garage again.</p><p>Then Sam's mind catches up and his eyes widen. Not only did Dean come to see his show, but Dean also spent three dollars and fifty cents on some stupid chocolates. Sam wonders what corners he's cut this time to afford it. He shakes his head, but can't help the fond huff that escapes him.</p><p>Sam allows himself one chocolate for now. There are five more in the bag for later. He'll make sure they last.</p><p>He doesn't chew it. He lets it melt on his tongue, sucking on it all the while as he changes out of his costume and back into his street clothes. It's dissolved into nothing but a film of sugar on his tongue by the time he makes it out to the lobby. Sam resists the urge to go to the drinking fountain, despite his thirst. He wants to draw it out.</p><p>He weaves through the crowd spilling from the auditorium and finds Dean leaning against one of the pillars near the reception tables, chatting up none other than Stacey Nicholson. Stacey's smiling shyly, and Sam can tell from her body language, leaning into Dean just a little, that's she's bought into his charming act hook line and sinker. Dean's grinning like the cat that's got the cream. It sends a pang of annoyance though Sam's gut, though he's not sure if he's ticked at Dean or Stacey.</p><p>But then Dean's gaze meets his over Stacey's shoulder, and his expression shifts. His smile softens, and for just a moment his eyes are overly fond, till he masks it with a smirk.</p><p>Dean murmurs something to Stacey and slips past her to get to Sam. Sam is inordinately pleased at the surprise on Stacey's face. She's not used to losing a boy's attention so quickly.</p><p>Dean ruffles Sam's hair in that way Sam pretends to hate. It is a little embarrassing, where all his peers can see, but Sam isn't all that miffed as he swats Dean's hand away.</p><p>"When you said you were the Stage Manager, I thought you meant they stuck you backstage 'cause no one wanted to look at your ugly mug," says Dean. His smile is mischievous, but his eyes are still warm with what Sam dares to hope is pride.</p><p>Sam knows he's only teasing. He'd told Dean it was a lead role. He punches his brother in the arm, failing to keep the grin off his face.</p><p>"Shut up," he grumbles, then pulls the candygram out of his jacket pocket. "Thanks for these, by the way. You didn't have to."</p><p>"I dunno what you're talkin' about. Must have a secret admirer, Sammy. Y'know, I always heard drama club was the way to meet chicks. You sly dog." Dean jostles his shoulder. Sam shakes his head and tucks the chocolates back in his pocket.</p><p>"You say bye to your friends?" Dean asks.</p><p>Sam glances around at the families and cliques clumped together around the lobby. He's friendly with his cast-mates and the crew, but even after so many weeks of rehearsal, he wouldn't call any of them his friends.</p><p>"Yeah. Ready to go."</p><p>Dean slings an arm over his shoulders and guides him towards the exit.</p><p>"Winchester!" The call makes Sam turn. It's Aaron again, holding up a point-and-shoot. "For the scrapbook?"</p><p>"Oh, sure."</p><p>Dean steps away from him, but Aaron beckons him back. "Let's get you with your brother."</p><p>Dean raises an eyebrow at Sam, who smiles and nods. He wants proof that Dean was here. That someone came to see him. Just him.</p><p>Dean slips his arm back around him, and Sam leans into his side. He's finally hit his growth spurt and comes up to Dean's ear now. It still throws him off, nearly being eye-to-eye with his big brother.</p><p>Aaron snaps the photo. "Great. I'll give you a copy next week, 'kay?"</p><p>Sam nods his thanks, and Aaron heads off in search of his next subject.</p><p>Sam and Dean head out of the school and across the parking lot. It's a mild May night, and the house they're renting is only a fifteen-minute walk, so Dean hadn't bothered to bring the Impala. Their arms brush occasionally as they stroll side-by-side. Sam's legs are long enough to match Dean's stride now.</p><p>"Hear from Dad?" he asks, just to check. The shake of Dean's head is expected. Sam had told Dad about the play, too, but he never let himself hope he'd show up. It barely even registers as a disappointment anymore.</p><p>They walk in silence for a stretch. Sam is still buzzing with adrenaline. He'd get butterflies in his stomach before going onstage every time, but he remembered what Dean had told him about calming nerves on a stakeout, or right before zeroing in on a target. Deep breaths, steady on the exhale. Force your heartbeat to slow. Don't focus on anything you have no control over. Just concentrate on what you have to do and get it done. It applied surprisingly well to acting.</p><p>"So," Dean breaks the silence, "that was a lotta lines to memorize." Dean's tone is neutral, but Sam can tell he's impressed.</p><p>"Least they weren't in Latin," he jokes back.</p><p>Dean snorts. "Yeah, guess that makes it easier." He glances sidelong at Sam. "That Stage Manager's a pretty wise guy, huh? Let me guess, they cast you 'cause you're such an old soul."</p><p>The smirk on Dean's face says he's making fun, but Sam doesn't mind if it's true. He shrugs. "Not a bad thing to be."</p><p>Dean shakes his head. "I liked that other guy. George. Real lover boy."</p><p>Sam snorts. "George is boring."</p><p>Dean frowns. "He's not boring." He actually sounds a little defensive. "He's—relatable, that's the word. I mean, he's got all these dreams but he decides to stay in town to marry his girl instead. I dunno. It's nice."</p><p>Sam's mouth twists in doubt. "Yeah, but Emily's the one who gains some perspective by the end. About the human condition and all."</p><p>Dean whacks him playfully on the head. Sam ducks away. "The human condition, huh? What do you know about that?"</p><p>"It's what the play's about!" Sam insists. "It's about realizing that we're only human, and our lives are tiny drops in the bucket. Life is short, people die, and we have to learn to live with that."</p><p>Sam's stomach clenches as he says it. It occurred to him more than once, while they were discussing or rehearsing scenes, that most of his cast-mates probably weren't acquainted with death at all. Not like Sam. They'd never killed something and watched the light go out of its eyes. Never come a hair's breadth away from their own bloody demise. Didn't have to watch their loved ones leave, over and over, wondering if they'd ever see them again or if they'd come back a corpse in the trunk.</p><p>Sam can picture it far too well. Sometimes he dreams about it, too vivid and real. His father's body, cold and stiff. Worse, Dean's body, ripped to shreds, eyes blank and glassy. His own body. Sam's pictured himself dead, imagined how it might happen, seen his father and brother burn him on a pyre in his mind's eye, so many times it feels like a memory of a true event.</p><p>Dean scuffs his shoe on the sidewalk, sends a piece of gravel skidding into the road. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets.</p><p>"That what George is supposed to do? Just, move on? I mean, what's the point? He gives up everything for her, and then she just—dies."</p><p>Sam pushes back the familiar horror show in his head. Locks it away. He shrugs. "She's dead, Dean. There's nothing he <em>can </em>do."</p><p>They walk in silence, and Sam thinks the conversation is over. They round a corner and the house comes into sight.</p><p>Then Dean says, in a quiet mumble Sam's not sure he's meant to hear, "But he loved her so much."</p><p>Sam doesn't respond. He sticks his hands in his jacket pockets, finds the candygram again. He'd almost forgotten. The chocolates are probably melting from his body heat.</p><p>He takes the mesh bag out and looks at it. The foil wrappers glint in the light of the streetlamps.</p><p>Suddenly Sam wants to cry, which is embarrassing and not something he's going to do in front of Dean. He's immensely, stupidly grateful for these overpriced, half-melted chocolates. Grateful for his brother, who teased him mercilessly for over a month about being a drama nerd, but who still took an evening off to show up for Sam, when no one else would. When it came down to it, it was always Dean. Only Dean.</p><p>Sam swallows the lump in his throat. He opens the bag, fishes out a chocolate, and wordlessly offers it to his brother.</p><p>Dean glances at it. "No thanks, I got them for you."</p><p>"So you're the secret admirer." Sam smirks.</p><p>Dean scoffs. "Yeah, yeah."</p><p>"C'mon," Sam presses, still holding out the chocolate.</p><p>Dean caves and takes it. The corner of his mouth twitches up in thanks.</p><p>He unwraps it and pops it in his mouth. Sam takes out another and follows suit. The chocolate has gotten softer, but it still holds its form enough not to make a mess.</p><p>They're nearly to the house when Dean speaks again. "Hey, Sammy."</p><p>Sam looks up. Nearly eye-to-eye, he thinks.</p><p>Dean pauses. Sam can't read his face in the shadows. Their rental home is dark, no electric light illuminating this stretch of sidewalk.</p><p>Sam watches Dean's cheeks move as he transfers the chocolate from one side of his mouth to the other so he can speak around it. Sam knows he's letting it melt in his mouth, too. Making it last.</p><p>"Ah, nothin'." Dean nudges his shoulder. "You were really good tonight, Sammy."</p><p>As if he's let too much slip, Dean turns and heads up the driveway before Sam can respond.</p><p>He watches his brother's back as he walks away, shoulders hunched. Always leaving, Sam thinks. He tongues the chocolate in his mouth, too aware of how small it is already.</p><p>Dean reaches the door, opens it, flicks on the hall light. "You gonna stand there all night?" he calls.</p><p>Dean is silhouetted in the doorway, looking back at him. Maybe Sam has it wrong. Maybe Dean isn't leaving. Maybe he's just up ahead, waiting for him. Sam wonders if he'll ever catch up.</p><p>"C'mon Sammy, lettin' mosquitos in."</p><p>There's still sweetness on Sam's tongue. He lets himself taste it, really taste it, on the insides of his cheeks and the roof of his mouth. It's not gone yet.</p><p>"I'm coming," he says, and walks towards Dean.</p>
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